The Boy in the Suitcase - Lene Kaaberbol [69]
“Tomas!”
“Yes.”
A pause. Sigita had no idea what to say. What does one say to a brother one hasn’t talked to in eight years?
“We heard from Darius’s mother that Mikas is … that he has disappeared,” Tomas eventually said.
“Yes.” Her throat tightened, and only that one word escaped.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “And … er … I was just thinking. If there’s anything I can do … ?”
An unexpected wave of tenderness washed through her. It stole what little strength she had in her arms and legs, so that she slumped down onto the couch with the phone in her lap, while tears burned their way down the side of her nose yet again. Normally, she never cried. Today, she had long since lost count.
“Sigita?”
“Yes,” she managed. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I am so glad you called.”
“Er, you’re welcome. I hope they find him.”
She couldn’t say another word, and maybe he realized. There was a soft click as he hung up. But he had called. She had only ever had sporadic news from home, and since she and Darius had separated, her most reliable source of Tauragė information had dried to a trickle. And right now there were a thousand things she wanted to know. What Tomas had been doing since leaving school. If he was still living at home. If he had a girlfriend. How he was.
If he had ever forgiven her.
But perhaps he had. He did call her, after all.
SIGITA WENT TO bed, but sleep was a hopeless enterprise. The hideous sense of imagination she had suddenly developed kept tossing images up inside her eyelids, and she didn’t know how to turn it off.
If you hurt my boy, she thought, I will kill you.
It was not an outburst of anger, as when two drunks yell at each other—“I’ll fucking kill you!” or the like. It was not like that.
It was a decision.
Somehow, it made her calmer. She could almost believe that the kidnappers would be able to sense her decision and realize what the price of harming Mikas would be. Just because she had determined that it should be so. This was of course hopeless nonsense, as the rational part of her well knew. Nonetheless, it helped: If you hurt him, I will kill you.
In the end, she went out on the balcony and sat in the white plastic chair she kept there. The heat absorbed by the concrete during the day was being released now that the air was cooler, and there was no need to put anything on over her night dress. She thought of Julija Baronienė, who had her child back. She thought of Gužas, and of Valionis. Had they gone home, or were they still at work? Was Mikas important enough? Or were there so many missing children that no one would work twenty-four-hour shifts just because another one had disappeared?
They wanted me to go on television, she thought. That must mean that he is important. She remembered the little English girl who had disappeared, but couldn’t recall her name. It had been all over the news for months, and even the Pope had become involved. And still the girl had not been found.
But Mikas will come back, she told herself firmly. If I believe anything else, I won’t be able to stand it.
A taxi drew up in the parking lot in front of the building. Sigita automatically looked at her watch. It was past 2 a.m.—an unusual time to arrive. A woman got out and glanced around uncertainly. Clearly a visitor, trying to get her bearings. Then she headed for Sigita’s block.
It’s her, thought Sigita suddenly. It’s Julija!
She leapt to her feet so quickly that she stubbed her toe on the doorframe. It hurt, but that was irrelevant. She hopped to the intercom and pressed the lock button the moment the buzzer sounded. She limped out into the stairwell and followed Julija Baronienė with her eyes, all the way up.
Julija stopped when she caught sight of Sigita.
“I had to come,” she said. “Aleksas wouldn’t hear of it, and I had to wait until he was asleep. But I had to come.”
“Come inside,” said Sigita.
HOW PECULIAR THAT one still says things like “Have a seat” and “Would you like some coffee?” even when life and death and heart’s blood is at stake, thought Sigita.